


All That Is Hidden

by Paranormal_Shitness



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin Skywalker’s Secret Sex Tapes, Anakin’s oblivious, Artoo is a pervert, CNC, Cock Evny, Everyone’s A Switch, F/M, First Time, Master Slave Dynamics, Master/Padawan, Masturbation, Multi, Porn, Privacy Invasion, Rape Play, Sexual Experimentation, Squirting, Typical Canon Camp, Vague Mommy Domming, Various Kinks, Voyeurism, Voyeuristic Droids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26727247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranormal_Shitness/pseuds/Paranormal_Shitness
Summary: When Artoo offers Ahsoka a sneak peak into her Master’s Private life it’s an opportunity she can’t pass up.
Relationships: Ahsoka Tano/Padmé Amidala onesided!, Ahsoka Tano/R2D2, Anakin Skywalker/Ahsoka Tano, Mentions of Ahsoka’s crush on Barriss, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	All That Is Hidden

In the desolate reaches of space, all the way out in the outerrim, Ahsoka felt a sense of freedom that simply wasn’t accessible back at the temple on Coruscant. And sitting there, beside her master, with nothing but the darkness around them and the hum of their own engine, their tiny transport became their own little private world. One they truly owned. If only for the time it took them to complete their mission.

A calm found her here. The kind of endless serenity always promised by the Code. An all embracing oneness with the universe.

But of course Artoo was always there to shatter a mood. A series of beeps from the door to the cargo hold caught her Master’s attention, pulling him away from the joint exercise of piloting, their shared contemplation, with the promise of an incoming transmission.

“Can you patch it through?” Master Anakin asked but the droid only responded to him with an error message. “Alright,” Master said with a sigh, “looks like I have to take this, Snips. You’re manning the helm until I get back.”

"Fine,” she sighed with a roll of her eyes but he ignored her projected annoyance. That meant it was probably an important call. Likely sensitive, or even classified information. Maybe even from a Council member. 

Not that it was any of her business unless it became her business, she reminded herself, releasing her anticipation into the Force. Master would probably be all details when he got back anyway. All she had to do was wait.

Long minutes passed with only the quiet thrumming of their transport and the emptiness around her for company. Five minutes. Then ten. She tried to distract herself from wondering what the call could possibly be by contemplating her latest meditation.

_All that is hidden must come to light._

It seemed like a simple phrase. The meaning of it was immediately apparent to her, but Master Obi-Wan who had cautioned her when she’d professed this by reminding her not to jump to conclusions. “All truth must be checked duly through the Force,” he had said, “Search your feelings.

By the time the door opened, pulling her once again away from her contemplation, she was knee deep in the meaning of the word ‘secret’ but Master Anakin’s mood was a wall of arresting frustration.

“Good call?” she asked, sarcasm earning her a gruff sigh as he crossed, gait strange, to his own seat at the controls.

There was a decided thump, followed by a pained creaking as he dropped heavy onto the contaplast upholstery.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” she griped to herself.

Her good mood was now thoroughly ruined. Where Master had been at peace, an easy wavelength matching her own through the Force just before Artoo’s interruption, now he was disjointed, irritable, almost combative where the edges of his self jutted against her.

“Not gonna tell me-“ she began to suggest, lifting a hand off the controls to emphasize how strange he was being.

Master frowned out the viewport at the nothing around them. He tugged, clearly uncomfortable, at the groin of his pants. “It’s not important,” he said.

“Oh-kay,” Ahsoka said, trying not to let her own distaste at his mood effect her. “Well since you’re in the mood for a tantrum, I’m going to take a nap.”

“Have fun,” he grumbled, already fumbling in his sleeves for the little deck of audio clips he always seemed to have on him.

“Whatever,” she bit over her shoulder as she thumbed the door open.

Artoo was idling just on the other side, and offered her a beep of greeting as the door slid shut behind her.

She regarded the droid cooly, crossing her arms over her chest as she considered how best to go about extracting information from the droid. He gave her a low whistle, upswung at the end, questioning.

“It’s nothing,” she said and paused to examine the ends of her fingernails, feigning disinterest for dramatic effect. Nervously, the droid offered her another series of beeps. “I was just wondering why that call upset Master Anakin so much.”

This didn’t seem to make sense to the droid. Artoo rattled off a number of negatory statements, insisting that no, Anakin was very happy with his incoming transmission, thank you, and Artoo was a good droid who deserved no admonishments.

“Kind of hard to believe it made him happy with how he’s acting.”

With another series of increasingly emphatic chirps and whirrs, Artoo informed her that he wasn’t programmed to justify human emotional output.

“Just tell me who called then,” she said.

Artoo gave her a low whine. 

“What do you mean you can’t tell me?” she demanded. “I’m your best friend!”

But Artoo only shook his cranial dome. This was getting ridiculous. She heaved a deep sigh and let her arms fall limp to her sides. 

“Alright, what do you want?” she asked. 

This question seemed to make the droid happy and he shuffled back and forth on his primary legs as he thought. Then, almost auto-repeater pace he rattled off another string of chatter.

Astromechs were hard to understand at the best of times. Most people only ever really got the gist of what they were communicating, and while most mechs knew that, Artoo was spoiled by Anakin’s uncanny ability to not only retain but also mimick almost any form of weird speech he encountered. Ahsoka had to think about what Artoo had just said, and hard, in order to parse the informational load.

“What do you want me to show you?” she asked, as a translation began to appear clear for her.

Artoo’s answer this time was slow and easy to parse. All he wanted was something equivalent. If he played back the call, she would have to offer something of a similar nature. Quid pro quo.

“Deal,” she said and it was a word with a great amount of final weight in that moment as Artoo let out a swift whoop.

She heard his internal servos whirr and click as he brought queued the memory up and a ghostly blue image of Senator Amidala swam to life out of solid light just above him, her glow reflecting gently off his casing. The Senator wore a simple style in her hair, body only visible to the tops of her bare shoulders as she smiled.

“I know you told me not to call you here but Artoo gets better signal than your commlink a-“

“I told you not to call me because Artoo records things,” Master’s voice cut her off.

The Senator offered a scoff of mock offense. “Rude,” she sighed. “As I was saying,” she continued then, clearly pretending Anakin wasn’t such a buzzkill, “I wanted to show you what I bought today.”

“Oh, so you want to ruin the surprise?” Master’s voice came again.

The Senator’s brow creased and she tucked her chin down the way she did when she was annoyed but her smile failed to falter. “No, I want you on pins and needles until you get back to me.”

Ahsoka frowned as she tried to make sense of what that meant.

“And how is that fair?” her Master was demanding in the recording.

“It’s not,” the Senator boasted, rising gently into view as she spoke so that the top of a structured corset became visible, “but I’m rarely fair,” the stays slipped into view, delicate lines of paneling complimenting the dip in her waist and the flare of her hips, “and I’m never reasonable,” here she turned, displaying a set of garters clipped into a long pair of stockings at her thighs, delicate lines of stitching pouring down the backs of her legs, hugging the insides of her knees and her calves.

The Senator was certainly well formed, perhaps even a perfect example of humane beauty. Ahsoka gasped, a sentiment echoed in the recording by the groan the sight had pulled out of her Master when he had seen it.

“You’re cruel,” he whined. “Snips is waiting for me to get back to her.”

The Senator giggled, head thrown back, shoulders contracting so the muscles in her back shifted pretty under her skin. “I suppose you’ll just have to hope Artoo did record this then,” she said with a backwards glance over her shoulder. Then she turned again, bending forward so the tops of her breasts were clearly displayed. “For posterity,” she added.

Master whined again. 

“You’re thinking,” she accused with obvious delight.

“Yeah,” Master said, tone nearly defensive, but still clearly a whine. “So what?”

“So you’d better knock that off before you go back to your Padawan,” the Senator accused.

And then the transmission cut, leaving Ahsoka breathless in the tight cargo hold. Artoo might as well have opened the bay doors and syphoned all the air out. Her hand shook as she raised it to brace herself against the cool steel of the hull. 

Her whole body felt like it was on fire. Her throat was tight with some thick pressure. At once, it was familiar and entirely alien. The same arousal she’d felt working closely with Padawan Barriss during and after the second battle of Genesis but so much stronger.

Artoo offered her a series of impatient beeps as she lowered herself to the floor.

“I just need a second,” she told him. The feeling of the cool metal on her super heated skin was calming, the only thing she had to ground her racing mind as it turned over the implications of the holo the little droid had just showed her.

Master Anakin and Senator Amidala. The idea itself was scandalous enough but her response was almost mutinous. If the Senator was with Master Anakin, surely Ahsoka’s response to the holo was a betrayal. 

Master could never know what she was thinking. How she had wanted to see what the Senator might look like under those barely there clothes, with her legs spread and her-

Ahsoka squeezed her eyes shut and tried to Will the idea out of her mind. Artoo beeped again. More urgently this time. But even when she thought about it Ahsoka had barely any idea what equivalent she had to offer him. 

“What should I do?” she asked.

Artoo whined, servos repeating their little song as he brought up another memory. Senator Amidala was half sitting, half lying on the big round couch on her patio, the curtains drawn around her but rustling softly in the wind. This time, she wore nothing but a short robe, tied loosely at her waist and then pulled all which ways, exposing all of her modesty. 

Ahsoka could see everything. The hard peaks of her nipples, the soft planes of her inner thighs, and between them- her fingers, rolling gently around her clitoris.

Ahsoka swallowed. Master would never forgive her but she had a debt to pay and- well it wasn’t as if the material wasn’t enticing. It wasn’t as if the Senator wasn’t one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. Her mouth was as dry as her leggings were wet as she peeled them down her own thighs, leaving them haphazard around her knees as she spread her own legs.

Artoo gave a low whistle, leaning forward to watch as Ahsoka did her best to mimic the Senator’s motions. This was truly strange, she felt, touching herself in front of her Master’s droid while it showed her holorecordings of his lover preforming for him, touching herself. But it wasn’t as if she could lie and say she wasn’t responding. The simple act of following the leader was a blissful answer to a life long problem.

Her mind went effortlessly blank save a smattering of images, ideas of things she wanted. The sound of Senator Amidala’s voice, soft and gentle as she pleasured herself, spurred her on in the fantasies. Ghostly kinetic imaginings of the Senator’s hands on her body, intent on something obscure and unknown.

Ahsoka never had known why anyone engaged with this nonsense but then here she was, leaking a puddle onto the durasteel floor of the cargo hold, unable to stop despite the droid watching. He was only a droid, she told herself, and she was far too frustrated to deny the need. 

The Senator moaned and she bit at her own lips trying not to answer the sound. Her legs were quivering against the hold of her leggings and in her mind she could see the Senator kissing along the crest of her knee but in reality her eyes were fixed on the holo, fixed on the Senator’s face as she cried out.

It hit like an avalanche. An overwhelming. Something like she’d never experienced before. It tore up from her feet and into her pelvis so her muscles contracted and she lost control of her body, legs splashing across the floor, head hitting the wall behind her so her perception of reality seemed to sing as it continued on its way up through her lungs. She was dying, probably, and what a blissful way to go. 

“Senator,” she called, unthinkingly. 

And then, as suddenly as they came, the convulsions passed, leaving her freed of her temporary insanity.

————

Master had not said anything when she returned to him. He had not felt anything. He was blissfully unaware. Which was just as well, Ahsoka thought because what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

She hadn’t said anything either. They both kept their secrets and, fervently, Ahsoka ignored her meditation. Perhaps all that was hidden didn’t have to come to light. Perhaps the meditation was unimportant. She could think about the words later. Here and now, she had the practicum of her Master’s trust to face. A trust he didn’t even know he’d given. One she’d paid for with a show.

Artoo, for what it was worth, showed absolutely no remorse. He was happy to deal. Any time she wanted. Just so long as she paid the price. Not that it was really a serious price to pay. 

He just wanted to watch.

Though she’d never heard of a voyeuristic droid before, she supposed it made as much sense as anything else that Master’s droid might have developed a few quirks to his AI chip. He had reams of footage. A holo for seemingly every occasion. He’d recorded images of Master and the Senator in a number of compromising situations. Most commonly, however, what he showed her was Master on his knees, face buried in the heaven between the Senator’s legs, her hand tangled in his hair and his around her hips.

Ahsoka wanted to be him. She wanted to do the things he did. To the Senator. 

He never took the glove off. Not once, did Ahsoka see the cold lines of his mechanical hand in a single one of these holos. He wore the glove, a sleeve of leather that reached all the way up past his elbow and belted down around what would have been his right bicep had the muscle still been there, and he used it indiscriminately. Ahsoka hadn’t been able to stop staring for a week after the first time she’d seen him push those fingers into the Senator’s mouth, drawing a line of shimmering liquid down along the lines of her chest, over the planes of her stomach before dipping his hand between her legs.

The Senator had gasped so pretty as those fingers disappeared inside her and Ahsoka had known where that hand had been. She knew. The leather of that glove had been bonded for it’s lifespan to the Senator. It had absorbed every fluid she’d ever left there. Sometimes, she wondered, as Master Anakin stood thinking, his fist jammed up against his mouth, just under his nose, if it managed to retain the scent. 

Holos were nice and all but they were only ever visual and auditory. Ahsoka wanted more even when she knew she shouldn’t. She wanted to do the things he did. She wanted to spread the Senator’s legs open and-

“How’s it goin’, Snips?” Master asked, poking his head down through the grating so he could watch her work.

“Annoying,” she said with a pointed look in his direction.

The mock agitation this afforded her was particularly impotent in that moment, with her tucked neatly into the ship’s crawl space, entirely out of arm’s reach and impossible to follow.

“Get the kriff out here, and we’ll see who’s annoying.”

“It’d still be you Skyguy,” she sighed.

The work was small and delicate down here. Painstaking almost. According to Master Obi-Wan, Master Anakin had been the one who did these repairs when he was young and still small enough to fit but since she’d been taken on, she was the only person working from inside the Ship’s mess. 

She thought about the weight of her Padawan beads against her shoulder as she reached for the solder, the dual yellow bands that were its only adornments. One for having been chosen, the other for her expertise in combat. She still had a specialization to choose and that lack of choice haunted her from time to time. Most especially when she was having thoughts that went very much against the code.

She had doubts. He’d inspired them.

“You talk a lot of grok for someone in Force-slamming distance,” Master said.

When Ahsoka craned her head for a look at him, he was crouching above her, his metal hand extended flat on the grating between them for balance, no more than a foot from her face. She didn’t think. Her mind went empty at the sight of it. And then she thought everything at once. How badly she wanted to put her fingers where those fingers had been, how badly she wanted to know what the Senator smelled like, how willing she’d be to suck the essence of that woman off that glove even knowing it had probably been several other places she would find much less enticing.

“How do you think the Senator’s doing back home on Coruscant?” she heard herself ask.

Master’s face went through a journey of half there micro expressions at the mention of the Senator.

“Well I’d hope,” he said after a few two many second’s pause.

“Has she called you recently?” Ahsoka asked, squeezing paste into the crack around a loose part.

There was another pause. She glanced up at him again, frozen in the position he’d been in, perched above her on the grate, right hand extended for balance. But now, he was looking everywhere but at her and his lips had thinned against one another nervously.

“Few days ago,” he admitted.

Ahsoka knew this. She’d watched the recording. She knew what he’d seen. How caring they’d been in the moments leading up to the memories Master’s mind was currently cranking over. 

“Did she mention me?” Ahsoka asked. Padmé had. Something about not getting caught by his cute Padawan. This line had been a highlight for Ahsoka. One she’d thought long and hard on in all her moments of quiet time. 

“I don’t really remember,” he said, wrapping his metal knuckles against the grate and spinning off toward the pilot console.

But that was a typical response. “Well you should tell her I miss her,” Ahsoka called after him.

The only answer she got in reply was a clipped, “Uhuh.”

————

Maybe they just weren’t very close. Maybe Master didn’t feel like he could tell her things. He was always dodging conversations. Anything related to his personal life was on a strict need to know basis. What little she’d gleaned about his past had been surrendered to her by those present around him and even they were reluctant to go into detail.

Except Artoo of course.

Artoo was happy to explain anything he knew about the humans they worked with regardless of whether or not he understood it. If he ever didn’t have the words to describe something, he had an example. He could teach her more about sex in five minutes than she’d ever learned anywhere else.

He’d shown her how to masturbate, taught her what oral sex was, informed her on the importance of lubricant to avoid wear and tear on moving parts. While she’d known from the brief rundowns they’d gotten in the temple as younglings that humans were one of a select group of species; including Twi’lek, Mirialani, Zabrak and Togruta, amongst others; to be considered socialsexual in their natural behavior, she’d been unaware just what exactly that meant. 

Master Anakin, it seemed, was always on the look out for something. Senator or no, he was prone to long disappearances when things got slow or they were in the middle of questioning witnesses. Disappearances Artoo explained alway as ‘quickies’. It was only ever really annoying, so unworthy of legitimate criticism, but Ahsoka couldn’t understand.

Not fully anyway. Because she understood somewhat. Ever since she’d figured out how to relieve herself, she’d found herself making the time to do so. 

It was like a new hobby. She and Artoo would shove themselves up in the cargo hold or in her personal quarters depending on the size of their ship and he would showcase the daily selection.

Today, it was games. 

Artoo loved games and so did humans, the droid explained as he summoned up a holo. 

The Senator’s room came into view, painstakingly lazerscanned so that even the thin panels of the window in the background were visible. From the angle Artoo had gotten himself, Ahsoka could easily see Senator Amidala asleep in her bed but it took her a moment to notice the movement by the window. 

A dark figure stood just outside on the ledge, scanned in nothing but silhouette through the diffusion of the transparisteel as it jimmied one of the panes open just far enough that it could push it’s way inside. Slowly, the figure came into ghostly detail. Dark robes and a deep hood. She recognized her Master by his tabards alone as he ripped the blankets off the bed.

The Senator screamed and Ahsoka thanked the stars Master was in town on a supply run this time because she was sure he would have heard that. She screamed like hell had come for her.

There were precious seconds of struggle, the Senator scrambling to get out of the bed but Master grabbed her through the Force, dragging her back across the mattress.

“Get off me!” She shouted, kicking and flailing against the strength of his hands on her arms, the weight of him baring down from above her.

“Make me,” he taunted. 

Master took his time, running gloved fingers along the hems of the Senator’s sleep robes. With her pinned on the bed like a butterfly beneath him, he had little need to hurry.

Her chest heaved. Master had exposed the bare skin between the Senator’s breasts and Ahsoka found her eyes captivated by that ghostly pale strip of light. 

This hardly looked like a game. It looked like an assault. Artoo had been clear but he was also just a droid. There were many times he didn’t understand human interactions. A sense of deep unease bloomed under Ahsoka’s clavicle as Master laughed against the line of the Senator’s jaw, as he pushed himself down over her.

The Senator redoubled her efforts, clawing at Master’s clothes in an attempt to rip him off her until his hood went down, revealing a slightly grown out Padawan’s cut hacked into his hair. 

“Unhand me!” the Senator insisted.

Master’s smirk was only just visible against the profile of his face. “But you’re so nice to have in hand,” he argued.

“Oh, and you really think that’s appropriate? You think you have the right to touch a Queen?” the Senator demanded.

“Right or wrong, I don’t think anyone in the Galaxy would have the power to stop me,” Master assured her.

There was a soft gasp. The Senator shrunk back into the mattress, fear clear in the clattering of her teeth.

“What do you want?” she asked him, voice breathless in her panic.

Master didn’t answer her verbally. Instead, he ground his body down between her legs, making her eye go wide and her breath catch in her throat.

“Surely there must be something else,” she bargained.

Master shook his head.

“I have money,” she argued. “Priceless jewelry. You could take anything you wanted.”

“I will,” he told her, hiking her leg up so her knee hung in the crook of his elbow.

“You can’t!” She insisted, bracing her arms against his shoulders. “You’re nothing but a slave boy from Tatooine-“

“Will it hurt your reputation, your highness?” he asked remorselessly, almost as though he relished the idea of publicly destroying her. She shuddered. “Is that why you rebuke me?” he pressed.

The Senator turned her head toward the scanner, face suddenly thrown into full detail, the knit of her brow, the line of her lips as she accepted the inevitable.

“Better hope no one finds out,” Master said against the shell of her ear and there it was, the proof Artoo knew what he was talking about. The Senator’s face broke. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her lips tugged up at the corners for a split second before the act took over once more.

Ahsoka’s breath felt like it had been ripped from her body. The sudden desire to hold someone down like that, not only deaf to their protests but relishing them, was so intensive she felt it like a ball of potential strung tight between her arms. This was like sparring. A way to test your own physical acumen against a partner’s. Master had just found a new elevation to bring it to.

“Stay,” he commanded and the Senator’s eyes popped back open, momentarily distant under the clear influence of a mind trick.

It was warm in the cramped space of her quarters. Between Artoo’s servos and her own heightened heart rate, the space had become muggy in a very short period of time. Ahsoka felt it like a physical weight in the floor of her pelvis. Tension mixed with the heat uncomfortably as Master pushed himself to standing between the Senator’s pretty thighs, gloved fingers working at his belt, pushing his obi aside so that his robes fell open. Even younger, the strength on him was clear, more streamlined but with the same solidity. He ripped at the lacing on his pants until it came free.

Ahsoka saw it in flashes between movement and limbs, behind shifting fabric. That secret part of him, the implied line of something firm enough to endure insertion. The jealousy burned Ahsoka’s cheeks as his prosthetic dipped down between their bodies so he could guide himself properly into the Senator. He gave a satisfied groan as he pushed forward, as his hips came to rest against the lines of her thighs, as she gasped, voice whistling through Artoo’s speakers.

Again, the mask of false emotion slipped as Master stilled within her. Her face fluttered between reluctant and ecstatic. The lines of her legs shivered against his sides. He stood there, looping his arm around her thigh to run those gloved fingers along her. Ahsoka leaned closer to the holo, trying in vain to see around the Senator’s leg, get a view of what those fingers were doing, but it was impossible. The Senator moaned. Her back arched, driving her against him so he hissed.

“You bitch,” he hissed, tone almost bordering on playful now, “playing so hard to get-“

The Senator cut him off in the middle of his sentence with a quick slap to the face. “Rape!” She shouted, a smile clearly visible on her face. “Rape!”

Master laughed as he rammed his hand down over her mouth. “Your neighbors can’t hear you,” he said with what sounded like utter certainty, “And even if they could you don’t sound very compelling.”

“Rrrrbe! Rrrrrrbe!” the Senator shouted against Master’s palm.

“I’ll show you rape,” he said, words warped by the strength of his amusement.

He used his grip on her jaw for leverage as he picked the pace up. Quickly, muffled jokes faded into appreciation and Master’s hand slipped lower, cupping the base of her jaw, sliding- almost thoughtlessly -onto her throat.

Instantly the Senator’s eyes flew open and Ahsoka felt the wave of cold even there, years later and thousands of parsecs away. She stopped, frozen half way through an attempt to take her pants down.

“Ani,” the Senator bit, tone full of warning. 

Master fell very still between her legs, gently lifting and removing the hand so that it hung out to the side.

“Sorry,” he muttered. 

The Senator struck him again, the palm of her hand sliding hard across his face so the shame bloomed red and hot on his cheek. Master’s head hung. 

“Do you understand how lucky you are I let you get away with this?” she demanded, wrenching herself up on one arm to address him from a place of greater authority and Ahsoka was frozen there, watching as she came down around Master’s ears, watching as he simply shrunk away from the onslaught of her words.

“You’re nothing to me,” she told him. “By rights you should never be allowed to touch me, yet I allow you to and this is how I’m repaid?!”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Master said under his breath. 

“Then do your job right, or do I need to remind you who owns who here?” 

Ahsoka swallowed the thick spit gumming up her throat. She’d never seen someone speak to her Master that way and not pay for it dearly but there was no anger in him. He bowed his head, allowing her pull him forward so his brow rested against her clavicle. 

“It’s alright,” she said, smoothing her hand over the top of his head, plating fly away hairs back into the traditional tail on the back of his head. “I still love you, Ani.”

Master whimpered. “Sweet boy,” she crooned. 

Ahsoka could feel herself soaking through her own leggings now. Master looked almost delicate leaned up against her like that, clearly straining not to move, as though he waited for orders. The game had changed. Seamlessly, it had flipped. Master had stepped out of line and lost the privilege to control the events to follow.

“You want to fuck me?” the Senator asked.

Ahsoka felt a deep kinship with the broken sound of her Master’s voice as he muttered desperate pleas against the Senator’s skin. Desperately, she tugged her leggings down and off. She didn’t have any more time to wait. The need was getting painful as she sat there, watching Anakin, not her daring Master any longer, but a boy desperate for approval. He always seemed so steadfast, confident and untouchable in his approach to the world. Everything she wanted to be but none of what she was. But now, vulnerable like he was here in this moment Artoo had captured, Ahsoka felt there was hardly any separation between herself and all she desired to be. 

Her clothing stuck to her as she pealed it away, leaving damp trails down her thighs as the Senator’s fingers ran gently through Master’s hair.

“ _Please_ ,” he begged.

“You don’t deserve it,” the Senator said and Master whined like a child denied a meal. “You don’t deserve any of me,” she insisted, “but I’m generous, aren’t I, Ani?”

Master nodded as he devolved into a series of praises, accolades to her benevolence. 

“I’ll let you have me,” she promised. “If you behave.”

The movement was instant. Master’s hand hit her shoulder, shoving her back down, bearing her into the mattress. He snarled against the bared line of her throat as he drove into her, as Ahsoka tried to imagine what it must feel like. Wet and warm around her. The Senator would be soft. She could almost imagine it, the ghost of a feeling on an appendage she didn’t have. 

Master moved desperately. The leather of his gloves biting hard on the Senator’s thighs, leaving behind bright, red fingerprints on her pale skin. The coherent train of dialogue they had managed to maintain up until this point all but fell away to the animalism of the moment. Sentience puddled at Master’s feet with his belts, forgotten and unwanted.

Ahsoka shivered, resting her foot on Artoo’s shoulder for stability as she rolled herself down against her own fingers. She was so close, and from the sound of it, Master was too. He sounded desperate under the Senator’s escalating moans. If she didn’t finish soon, he wasn’t going to last. Not that it mattered. It felt so good. Ahsoka felt it too, a ball of pressure in the bottom of her foot, reaching long hands up to her hips. It was too good to stop. She’d lost control over that. Like her Master, she moved with no will of her own. He was so close and she wanted to reach that point with him, wanted to tumble over the edge as he did. 

Her head lolled back against the ship hull, followed only by the sound of them, the feeling she had imagined for herself. She heard him, at the same time she heard herself. He keened through the recording as he emptied himself into the Senator and Ahsoka’s legs shook hard as she came in an arc right across Artoo’s focal lens. 

“Kriff!” She shouted, scrambling to try and stop the stream of liquid, catch it in her hands, stop the flow, but she couldn’t. Artoo heaved a mechanical chuckle at her as she dripped through her fingers onto the floor, legs still twitching with the scale of the orgasm. 

“It’s not funny,” she whined. “I can’t stop.”

Master had buried himself face first into the Senator’s neck, her legs high in the crooks of his arms, bending her almost in half as he emptied himself into her. He swore against her skin, as Ahsoka dripped like an automatic caf machine over the edge of her sleeping palate, as Artoo laughed at her, as she desperately imagined how it must feel to him.

Then the holo clicked off and the room plunged into a silence broken only by the sound of Ahsoka’s own fluids dripping onto the floor.


End file.
